Dave, David and I loved to cliff dive.  One day, after jumping off a cliff to the bottom of a gushing waterfall, Dave almost drowned.  David and I had already jumped and were waiting at the bottom of a steep and narrow, canyon. The gorge, as we called it, was a tricky place to jump.  If you jumped too hard you hit the rocks on the other side.  If you didn’t jump far enough the surge of the waterfall pushed you into a corner with a whirlpool.  Dave didn’t jump hard enough.  Swimming as hard as he could he was dragged backward into the swirling water.  He went down in the cold clear water, only about six inches the first time. 

          The first rule of lifesaving is that two people drowning are worse than one.  The second rule is when considering options to save is always to pick the method, which is the least risky to the rescuer, that is, you.  Better to extend a stick or throw a float before reaching out with your hand or neck.  One day while I was body surfing in Laguna, I was caught inside on a set from a rising hurricane swell.  The lifeguard ran down to the waters edge, getting close enough to wish me good luck as the rip tumbled me through the pier pilings. 

          Dave pulled himself back to the surface and reached for the rocks for a place to grab.  But unable to get a grip on the mossy surface he went down again.  This time, he went two feet under.  From a boulder on the edge of the pool, David dove into the water, just as Dave seemed to get a burst of strength and propel himself toward the rocks for a grip.

          It is an amazing thing when someone puts their life on the line for another.  It is natural to fear suffering and death, to not want to jump into a whirlpool.  Unfortunately there is more than one kind of pain and suffering. 

          Margi was my first girlfriend in high school. Before that relationships with girls consisted of holding hands while they played Elton John’s Rocket Man at the at the skating rink.   Margi  and I dated for several months before summer.  As summer unfolded we spoke by telephone several times a week until she went on a vacation, and then I went on vacation.  When I got back I had a couple of days before another trip.  A mutual friend told me that Margie was sick and in the hospital.  Living a relatively blessed and sheltered life, I had not been exposed to much loss or sickness.  I didn’t admit it at the time, but I was afraid to see her.  I wanted to live in a world without suffering and sickness.  I didn’t go see her.  I made the excuse that since I only had two days before my next trip, I needed to get ready.  Now, looking back, I know, essentially, I ran from pain and suffering.  Even though she recovered quickly, I felt bad, even sinful in my avoidance of Margi in the hospital.

          My tolerance of pain grew a bunch in the Peace Corps. Guatemalans often display a joy and peace even as threats swirl around them.  One the one hand their attitude reveals resignation, and on the other, a defiance of suffering.  And the sick and dying are not as separated or out of sight as they are here.  You can’t escape them as easily.  I began to learn that solidarity and relationship define us as individuals.  Being with someone going through pain and suffering can be strangely beautiful, redemptive.  

          In Guatemala I also read about Archbishop Romero, who had been killed in El Salvador a couple of years before. By February of 1980, Romero had already transformed from a shy bookworm into a prophet for God, condemning the destruction and bloodshed of the USA backed military.

Romero began a retreat by looking inward. He was shepherd of the diocese that had greatest responsibility for the whole church of the country, and by now his word was very influential even in the political arena. In this situation, he wrote:

I want to be with Jesus and share in his obedience to God's saving plan.

I beg pardon of God for the human impediments in my performance as his instrument.

I want this retreat to join me more closely to his will.

I ask him to make his love, his justice, his truth shine through me more easily. I am afraid of violence to myself. I have been notified of serious threats for this very week. I fear because of the weakness of my flesh, but I pray the Lord to give me serenity and perseverance -- and also humility, because I also feel tempted to vanity.

Faced with the option to quit preaching liberation through Jesus Christ or risk death, he jumped back into the whirlpool.  Broadcast across the nation via radio he preached:

"Peace is not the product of terror or fear. Peace is not the silence of cemeteries. Peace is not the silent result of violent repression. Peace is the generous, tranquil contribution of all to the good of all. Peace is dynamism. Peace is generosity. It is right and it is duty." -- NAPF page on Oscar Romero

On March 23, 1980, Archbishop Romero made the following appeal to the men of the armed forces:

"Brothers, you came from our own people. You are killing your own brothers. Any human order to kill must be subordinate to the law of God, which says, 'Thou shalt not kill'. No soldier is obliged to obey an order contrary to the law of God. No one has to obey an immoral law. It is high time you obeyed your consciences rather than sinful orders. The church cannot remain silent before such an abomination. ...In the name of God, in the name of this suffering people whose cry rises to heaven more loudly each day, I implore you, I beg you, I order you: stop the repression"

The day following this speech, Archbishop Romero was murdered. (James R. Brockman, S.J.: The Spiritual Journey of Oscar Romero.

 SPIRITUALITY TODAY, Winter 1990, Vol.42 No. 4, pp. 303-322.)

He has become a saint among the Salvadoran people, a peace-loving prophet who died from the sins of his nation and ours.

Gandhi said that the “Self sacrifice of one innocent man is a million times more potent than the sacrifice of a million men who die in the act of killing others.

Carter Heyward, Bishop and feminist writes in the Power of God-with-Us,  “I am learning that, as a process of liberation from either injustice or despair, healing is a process of finding -- if need be, creating -- redemption in suffering. The AIDS crisis has been teaching me this, as did my father's nine-year bout with cancer, which resulted in his death in 1984. More recently, the sickness and death of a young friend, and a devastating relational rupture that left me badly hurt and in need of healing, have required me to struggle with the meaning of suffering.

“I have never believed in ‘redemptive suffering’ as a means of justifying either pain or God. I still do not. There is no theological excuse for the pain inflicted upon human and other creatures by human beings. There is no justification, no spiritual reason, why forces of nature such as hurricanes and viruses hurt us or why some of us get hit by cars or lost when planes crash. The death of my life-loving father was not good, nor was death of my friend Dianna, nor the agony of her spouse and family. From a theological perspective, whether pastoral or ethical, suffering is not good for us.

Although the sacred Spirit in no way "wills" or sets us up for suffering, all living creatures do suffer. In these last years, scarred by AIDS, by the dominant culture of greed and violence, and by personal loss and pain, I have come to see more distinctly the vital link between the healing process (traditionally the prerogative of religious and medical traditions) and the work of liberation (assumed to be the business of revolutionary movements for justice).

The link is in the commitment of those who suffer and of those in solidarity with them to make no peace with whatever injustice or abuse is causing or contributing to their suffering, and in their commitment to celebrate the goodness and power in our relationships with one another -- especially, in these moments, with those who suffer. To struggle against the conditions that make for or exacerbate suffering, and to do so with compassion -- "suffering with" one another -- is how we find redemption in suffering. To realize the sacred power in our relationships with one another, and to contend against the forces that threaten to damage and destroy us, bears luminous witness to the goodness and power of God. In the midst of suffering, we weave our redemption out of solidarity and compassion, struggle and hope. In this way, we participate in the redemption of God.”

We all fall short of the glory of God. We each are likely to have at least three favorite ways to avoid suffering.  We run away, cover up, divert our attention and emotion with bad habits, busy work or thought; our fear and sense of self-preservation keep us from jumping in, speaking up, or being present.  We let the demons, the powers and principalities get their way.  The innocent suffer.

Hebrews and Isaiah tell us, however, that the innocent suffer with strength.  Because to Him giving in to fear and violence would be more painful, he is sucked into the whirlpool of chaos and violence our crimes create.  Loving us still, he shows us a way through to peace, justice and joy.

As a pastor, never immune from the desire to find a way to avoid the pain of committed relationship, I have grown from the privilege of witnessing hundreds of moments when people have stepped forward despite fear, to stand in solidarity with others during a time of suffering.  You have given me courage to do the same.  I have seen looks of relief, forgiveness, grace and love literally wash over people in times of crisis, and they have gone from the darkness of fear and shame to seeing the light of hope and thanksgiving.  Like Christ, Romero and Gandhi and Carter Hayward, in these beautiful moments give testimony to the world that nothing can separate us from the love of God through Christ Jesus our Lord.  As a Christian family, in our family or in the Church, enduring pain to be in solidarity with those who suffer is the key to both healing and liberation, and ultimately, to the celebration and affirmation of life.  This is the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

“Lord, give us the courage to change the things that should be changed, the grace to accept those things that cannot be changed, and the wisdom to know the difference."